


no blues

by dabblingDilettante



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21769381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingDilettante/pseuds/dabblingDilettante
Summary: Dorothea hums the sorriest tunes, but she and Linhardt are never really alone.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33
Collections: FE3H Holiday Gift Exchange





	no blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [donniedont](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donniedont/gifts).



> You've caught: TRANS HEADCANON
> 
> Looks like its NONBINARY LINHARDT
> 
> It's SUPER EFFECTIVE (they/them)
> 
> This is a Treat for the FE3H christmas exchange! I am not good at writing romantic ships and I'm still not super sure about a lot of characters, but this person requested characters that involved Linhardt and Dorothea (and also wrote a wonderful fic about Dorothea and Dedue), and I loved Lin & Doro supports. I hope you can get at least a little enjoyment out of this!!!

“Hey, Lin,” Dorothea says, practiced and careful. “You look tired as usual.”

“You don’t need to bother with the formalities,” Linhardt says. “I am always tired. And to answer the question you’re going to ask, yes, I would like some help.”

She nods. “Of course.”

At 4 A.M., there are usually very few people left awake. In the quieting aftermath of the war, most people tire themselves out during the day, in the midst of messy clean-up. This time of night, there are the few who choose to wake so early, and those who cannot sleep.

Dorothea has never been able to sleep particularly well. Perhaps due to kidnappings, or perhaps due to sleeping on the street for so many years, she has become an unfortunately light sleeper. It was a benefit during battle. It meant she woke up when danger reared its head. War was a strange reflection of her childhood, clawing through to survive at any cost. Singing didn't save her there. She still wasn't sure how she convinced herself to survive what she did. Yet. She was here, and that was the one continuing fact of her life. Staying up all night meant she had plenty of time to linger on it before attempting to apply make up to cover up the ever-darkening circles under her eyes.

However, Linhardt is a new addition to her 4 A.M. crew, and that was more than slightly concerning to her than her own personal issues. They come the few feet over to her the dorms they still haven't left after the war and lingers through her room, taking in the carefully decorated walls. Linhardt has a way of taking as much time as possible before bothering to start a conversation, but she doesn't dislike that. They only speak if they feel there is something to be said. It's better than the boring prattle most nobles play into. It means she knows she can take them seriously.

Settling into a chair, they ensure their own comfort before asking, “What do you do to keep yourself busy at this time of night."

Dorothea brings a blanket over, which they take without comment. She measures responses in her head. Whether they want something she thinks they should do, or whether she could offer anything that would help. She settles on truth over comfort. “I hum, sometimes. Honestly, there's little to do and I think it makes me a little wild. There’s not much space to sing, so I’ve been trying to start writing operas. …it’s not easy, but it feels nice to come home to something I thought I’d lost.”

They harrumph. “I start reading, but my eyes usually blur before I get too far. That should be a sign that my body is tired, which I would gladly take. Yet when I try to lay back down, I’m in the same boat I was before. No rest.”

“You could ask Bernie to show you how to knit, perhaps. I’ve been doing this so long I can function surprisingly well,” she says. “I’m sorry. Advice for late night issues isn't my forte. If you'd come to ask me about which opera you should commission Manuela for, I'd have had a much better answer. She and Hanneman would actually have something to collaborate on for once, because he could advise her on crest history, and she could dramatize like no one else.”

“I don't think sensationalized crest operas are going to help me here,” Linhardt says. “Your company is better than your advice. If I’m continuing to be honest, I should tell you I didn't come for any. I already know you’re not a shining beacon of emotional health.”

For how blunt it is, Dorothea begins to laugh. They grimace at her, but don’t tell her to quiet down. Linhardt probably cares less than she does.

“Do you know why I always stayed on the first floor, when we were in school,” they ask, after a time.

“I didn’t think much of it,” she says. “You weren’t the only noble on the first floor. I assumed there wasn’t enough room for everyone on the second floor.”

“Well, that would be correct. There had to be some students placed on the first floor.” They look at the ceiling, leaning back into one of Dorothea’s large chairs. “Lysithea von Ordelia was. Petra of course. Bernadetta. I as well. I assumed Petra was on the first floor because ultimately, she was a political prisoner. I doubt pushing for her to have a room on the illustrious second floor was not the first thought in the mind of her grandfather.” Linhardt says that with a snort. “Lysithea and I, however … of course, both of us were born into nobility. However, House Ordelia had its own issues. In comparison, my family does quite well, but felt my demeanor was ill-fitting of a noble. When I showed little interest in doing what they wanted while enrolled as a student, they felt there was no point in vying for me like many of our peers. There were rumors about Lysithea’s health, which likely played a part in her being placed on the first floor. Accessibility, you see. For me, it was somewhat similar. But sometimes accessibility is a slight attack, as well. I assume it was, in my father’s eyes. I doubt he could easily let go of the fact that his child was utterly disinterested in following his footsteps.”

“…Bernie had pretty bad parents, too,” Dorothea murmurs. “If that’s the case, it’s a bit of a club, isn’t it.”

Linhardt chuckles. “It is all hearsay. I don’t know what my parents were thinking. And I will never have to honestly care about it, now. I can do as I please.” They pause. “I would like … to do as I please.”

“Me too, Lin,” she murmurs. Dorothea sits on the ground, but leans her arms and head on the chair next to Linhardt. “Me too.”

“Caspar invited me to sleep in his room,” they say abruptly. “He invited me, and I didn’t.”

“Is this why you visited me tonight?” Dorothea asks.

“…there are many reasons to visit you,” Linhardt says. “But yes.”

“What’s going on, Lin.”

“I watched him almost die. More times than I can count.” Linhardt is quiet, and Dorothea has to look at them to make sure they’re still breathing. “I did everything I could to save his life, and I know for a fact. I let others die for his sake. Because why would I let someone I dearly love die for the sake of a stranger? But every time I look at him smile, now, all I can think of is the corpses that exist because of … me.”

Dorothea lets their words sit in the room. Lets the thought simmer and fade, till the air is no longer so heavy and difficult to take.

“You know I killed many people, Lin.” Her hand moves over theirs. “I don’t even know how many, because so often, I could do it from a hundred feet away, without ever seeing their faces. I didn’t sleep well before the war and I sleep less now. But I want you to know that I think that’s a million times better than me, because I never once thought of anyone but myself.”

“That is objectively not true,” Linhardt says. “Otherwise, you would have abandoned us and left the country as soon as the war started.”

“…that’s very sweet, but I stand by my statement,” Dorothea murmurs. “You thinking of Caspar the whole time. I know you’ll say it’s selfish in some way, but it’s like a play I wish I could write. Everything I’ve been composing has been so tragic, but that … that makes me smile, Lin. I can’t make the trauma leave you alone, but I can tell you that much.”

“I appreciate it, Dorothea.” They turn to face her, hair falling in their face. “Tonight, though, I thought back to what I once told you. That in running away, I’ve run out of places to run to.”

“Oh,” she says. “…Caspar was one of those places, wasn’t he.”

“The last place, I fear,” Linhardt says. “Logically, I know I should have the space to be with him. But these frustrating nagging thoughts keep invading my dozing, treating me like a fool for daring to want. He is truly a … a safe space, one may call it. But it’s been corrupted by my intrusive thoughts.”

“Have you talked to Caspar about it?” she asks.

Linhardt breathes out harshly through their nose. “I despise that you’re asking the logical question. I would normally be annoyed for you asking something so obvious, but I’m more annoyed because you’re right to ask. …because I have not.”

“Because it’s difficult,” she says.

“He’s the one who almost died so many times,” they say. “I only watched. I despised getting that close to battle, and magic allowed me to keep my distance. I had the excuse of healing the wounded. I know he will say he isn’t troubled by it, and act like a happy idiot, but in this situation. In this one, I can’t see how it will not hurt him. We aren’t children anymore. I can no longer be so brusque. We’ve both gone through hell and put others through worse. …I do not want to be a living reminder of the worst years of his life.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Dorothea says. “If you can’t run away anymore, you have to face it head on. You can’t punch a wall in the face without breaking bones, but you can tear it down in other ways. Trust me, Lin. I know what I’m talking about.” She squeezes their hand. She wished that was more honest, but it wasn't as though she didn't want to live that way. Breaking through and getting close to people she desperately loved. “Are you sure Caspar isn’t asking you to share a bed with him for a reason similar to you? Because I’m pretty sure he wants your companionship while the two of you work through this.”

“Or you are projecting your own emotions onto him,” Linhardt says.

She laughs. “I think we’re all feeling somewhat similarly at this point, Lin. …I’m lonely. I know that's always been obvious. But we've been friends for years, now. You’ve made it easier to start making it through to the other side. It's a long trek and I keep repeating the same mistakes, but you help orient my thoughts.”

“I knew there was some worth in bothering you every night,” they say. “It’s much easier than walking up the stairs to Caspar’s room, too.”

“If it’s that hard, just ask him to carry you up there ahead of time,” she says, poking their cheek.

As she pokes them, Dorothea sees their eyes stay closed, and the casual rhythm of breathing take Linhardt’s chest. She smiles and crawls into her own bed. Maybe she could learn from them, sometime soon.


End file.
